Environmentally Friendly
by Kaj-Nrig
Summary: The future of the planet is at stake. They have only one chance to save their beloved planet. Are they willing to do what is absolutely necessary? Do they dare make history by removing themselves from it?


A/N: A fic I wrote in two days while I both refrained from doing my ever-increasing schoolwork and put thought to another FFVII fanfiction I'm planning. Who said I couldn't multitask?

There weren't any Betas or second drafts on this one, and the lack of quality shows. That said, I'm still decently happy with how it turned out.

Any and all reviews are welcome.

As always, Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix. I use it without permission for free entertainment purposes only.

**Update 02-21-12** – Fixed some errors, added things that were discarded in FFnet's various format changes. A random note: FFnet, you can kindly take your line breaks and go to Hell. Thanks to you, I've had to become a politician. No, I'm not running for President (though I have no doubt I would make for the best one ever); what I mean is that, like seemingly every big-name politician nowadays, I have had to come up with new and clever ways to circumvent your no-scene-breaks-except-the-boring-straight-horizontal-line system and further my own greedy agenda. Yes, I have turned into Scott Walker. (You have to be a Sconnie to understand the joke, sorry.)

Anyway.

-x-x-x-

Environmentally Friendly  
By Kaj-Nrig

-x-x-x-

Overseer Mihrin did not enjoy the banality of this discussion. People like that pig-headed Ruma – hailing from some obscure island-nation to the south – were the reason why laws were never passed and the Monolith Union constantly laughed at. At the moment, Ruma was loudly and vigorously protesting that the passage of this and that would do that and there to such and such an environment, and Mihrin could see from every other beleaguered national representative's face that his bag of hot air was landing on deaf ears. Even those inclined to agree with him were shaking their heads; they knew that the passing of the bill was a foregone conclusion. Mihrin checked his wristwatch; He had had enough.

"Your concerns are very well-meaning and well-versed, Representative Ruma," he interrupted from his seat in the center of the large debate hall. "You have made your point very clear. Now, with that in mind, gentlemen, I feel I speak for everyone when I say that this Monolith Revitalization Plan is of significant importance to not only our survival, but that of our beautiful planet as well. In that light, we cannot afford to delay our vote any longer. Representative Ruma, please take your seat." Ruma begrudgingly took his seat, and Mihrin couldn't help but let slip some of the smugness he felt from that expression of power. "Thank you. Now, if everyone is ready to vote..."

Later, he would remember just how exuberant he felt when the votes came in, 300 countries for, 2 against. Not surprisingly, Ruma's piss-poor country of Fubar was one of them. The other was another insignificant nation of tree-huggers who called for the ludicrous notion of complete and utter abandonment of the world's energy policy, instead of embracing the ideas of the Monolith Revitalization Plan.

It baffled him how they couldn't see that the MRP was just as environmentally friendly as their extremist ideology. But then again, people like Ruma cried foul at every attempt to better the world community; a plan that would restabilize the planet's Core without any ill effects to it or the current (and future) energy demands was a boon, not something to warrant suspicions.

Besides, NovaGen, the conglomerate spearheading the entire operation, had already done extensive testing of their equipment, their procedures, personnel, everything. It all checked out.

Overseer Mihrin would die in luxury, forty years later, content in the knowledge that he had helped reduce the world's impoverished by two-thirds, increase the average person's lifespan to well over 100 years, and generally make the world a much more comfortable and better place.

-x-x-x-

Chim loved school. To him, it was the one part of the day when he could let his mind wander with adults around and not be scolded for it. Today, he was listening intently to Mrs. Hunner ramble on about some history or science or something. He himself was taking her words and reshaping them as she went along. "150 years ago" became "once upon a time"; "NovaGen" became "the stalwart knight"; and so on.

Once upon a time, there was a stalwart knight named NovaGen. He (because Chim knew that knights were only ever men) was ordered one day by King of the World Mihrin to go and defeat the great monster known as Stagnating Core. He traveled to the middle of the Ceres Ocean, dove down over six miles until he reached the ocean floor, and there he built a castle of steel and titanium, so strong and big that he could fit an entire city into it. He named the castle Stonehenge, after the god who had created Monolith.

There, perfectly safe from the clutches of the vile Stagnating Core, NovaGen created several dolls and infused them with gentle memories of a fulfilling life, and sacrificed them to the Stagnating Core. He continued this until the Stagnating Core was placated, but being the chivalrous and duty-bound knight he is, NovaGen continues to offer those sacrificial dolls to the (no longer Stagnating) Core in order to keep it in check. In the world above, he has been given the name "NovaGen the Guardian" for his unflinching, uncompromising dedication to his task.

The bell rang for recess, then, and Chim was the first to lace up his sneakers and charge through the door. Outside, he found that a puddle had taken over the playground. Looking to his friends, he let out a war cry and charged into the open water. "I'm NovaGen the Guardian! Take this, evil Stagnating Core!" he yelled and thrust his hand into the water.

-x-x-x-

There were moments, like tonight, when Lixna woke up to the feeling of cold shivers running up and down her arms like living things. Shaking the invisible insects off, she went about cleaning and rearranging the strewn papers on her desk. She had fallen asleep on the job again.

Not that that was particularly surprising. She had been working here for so long that she had lost track of the months, or maybe even years. She wondered idly if Juger was asleep, too. Before she could check, though, an alarm on her desk suddenly began to blare, with a bright red light to accompany it.

"This better be good," she moped before putting on her lab coat and pressing the answer button. "What is it, Porphia?" she asked.

"Doctor Marga, there's been an incident. You should come down here."

"What's happened?" There was an incident now, after two hundred years of flawlessness?

"It's... well, it's one of the Dolls, ma'am. He's, uh... he's awake."

_Oh, hell._ Before the line could close, Lixna was already out the door and making her way down the familiar hallways to Memory Allocation. "When did this happen?" she asked as soon as she entered the room.

Porphia answered without turning to face her. "Just now, ma'am. Doll 45-C-10. He's... take a look."

The small control room was separated from an exceedingly larger, industrial-sized factory by ten sheets of pressurized glass to keep the water outside from caving in the facility. Outside the control room, hanging from giant tracks that stretched for a mile in either direction, were pressurized capsules that could be rotated along the tracks for observation. Lixna knew without looking that at the very bottom of the installation, running along the ocean floor, was a large fissure that allowed NovaGen reliable direct access to Monolith's Core, which was the only reason why they had built their hunk of scrap metal here at the bottom of the ocean. As the tracks rotated, those capsules that passed over the Core emptied their Dolls into it, allowing the planet to dissolve the Doll and nourish itself.

"Bring up Doll 45-C-10."

"Yes, ma'am." Lixna heard a sound like grinding gears echo from far off to her left, and soon the capsule was directly in front of them. Lixna peered through the panes of glass into the capsule, but there was no light at all down here.

"Send out the light-cam," she ordered, and instantly a mechanical arm detached from the roof of their room and pointed itself at the capsule. On the central glass pane, the camera's video feed was displayed.

"Light coming on in five, four..."

"This might be a bit disturbing, people. Watch yourself."

"...one." The instant the light flicked on, the capsule shook against its constraints, and the entire control room staff gasped in horror.

The vaguely man-looking creature peered back at them, its eyes wide with terror. It struggled furiously against its cage, coughing and swallowing at the same time the slightly pinkish fluid that suspended it. Yes, it was awake.

"Um... Doctor Marga?"

Lixna was frozen in awe. She stared out across the empty ocean at the illuminated man. He had stopped his violent thrashing and simply stared back, though traces of horror still haunted his eyes.

After a moment, though, she nodded to Porphia. "Send it to the drop-off. Dispose of it immediately."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

Lixna sighed and returned to her room. That had been the first, and hopefully the last, such occurrence. She hoped it never happened again, or else she would have to start questioning her morals.

No more incidents of Dolls waking up occurred during Lixna's life. Three hundred years after the Monolith Revitalization Plan was put into motion, the second incident of a Doll awakening occurred. A hundred years after that, the third incident occurred, with the fourth following fifty years later. After that, more and more Dolls would wake with greater and greater frequency, until it soon became inevitable that the entire system would fail completely.

-x-x-x-

Demini clutched the package tightly and rushed up the stairs, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire from below. They would not get her before her job was done. She could not fail.

How had they known? Who had folded under the pressure? It was no matter. Nobody could stop them now. There were too many of them, their plan too complete to be foiled, especially at this late stage.

As Demini reached the top of the stairs, she felt something suddenly strike her in the shoulder. Shrieking in pain, she stumbled over the last step and struggled to get to her feet. _They can't get me, they can't get me, they can't get—_ Rolling until the wooden railing was between her and her pursuers, she clutched the package with one hand and reached for the pistol with her injured arm. There was a stabbing pain in her shoulder as she flexed the muscles to grasp the sidearm, but she ignored the pain and opened fire as quickly as possible.

The first soldier to peek out from the stairway was shot in the head. Demini quickly turned and kicked open the first door she saw, which led to the capitol building's Hall of Legislation. She stepped into the room, but not before another bullet impacted her leg.

Crying out with pain, she limped along the wall, then along the railing that led to the middle of the chamber.

"Freeze!" shouted someone from across the room. She looked over, seeing that soldiers were already filtering into the room through the other doors.

It wasn't fair. Did they not see the necessity of her actions?

Her injured leg gave way and she fell the rest of the way to the center of the large room. She couldn't hold back the tears anymore, so she let them fall freely as she struggled to a sitting position, resting against the Overseer's podium. It was all going to end, anyway; a few more tears on her part wouldn't change anything.

_Forgive us, Monolith. No matter what, we tried._

She grasped a string dangling out of the pack.

"Don't do it!"

She looked up wearily, the tears clouding her vision, seeing that she was now completely surrounded.

"Look, we can still work this out, girl! Don't throw your life away like this!" One of the soldiers beckoned to her, placing his gun down on the floor and offering her his hand.

Demini smiled at the man. He deserved that much, at least. He was just as ignorant as the rest of the world, but he showed her some compassion. That counted for something, she guessed.

"It's already over for me. For all of us," she said quietly, and pulled the string.

That act was enough for them to retreat, some opening fire, and as the first bullet ripped into her flesh, Demini wanted to laugh at the primordial fear that had overridden all of their training in that one moment.

The bomb in her satchel didn't go off. There had never been a satchel charge to begin with. They would realize that soon enough. They would all realize, when the nuclear warhead two blocks away finished warming up, triggered by the remote signal in the satchel pack she had just turned on.

She hoped the world would be a better place the next time around.

-x-x-x-

Monolith has lived for a long, long time. When she first came to be, birthed by the benevolent cosmos, she was exuberant, bubbling, and unbelievably excited to begin creating life.

It was a slow but thoroughly pleasant process. Over the course of eons, she progressed from the tiniest forms of life – insignificant and completely bodiless auras imbued with an innate desire to become something tangible – to the most complex of organisms – bacteria, with its impossibly intricate mishmash of parts all working for a cause greater than themselves, a life form which was finally more than the sum of its parts.

The first death was agonizingly painful for Monolith. She had lived for so long that the concept of death was completely foreign to her. Sobbing rain over her surface, she took her child back into herself with all the tenderness of space cradling and suspending its planets and suns. Then something amazing happened that forever changed Monolith's life.

As the bacteria returned to her, fading to become part of her again, it smiled and presented something to her. "I'm back, Mama," it told her just before becoming formless once again. The present it gave to her entered her core, penetrated her with its outpouring of emotion, and she smiled as she was nourished. She remembered, at that moment, the overwhelming joy, sadness, anger, and bliss of her child's life, all the more intense for its brevity.

It was at that moment that she understood the true purpose of her existence, and she went about creating life with a zest she had never before felt. The process was even slower this time, but she continued and persisted, impassioned by the lives she created and took, invigorated by the memories of lives all too mortal.

Finally, she made the decision to give something to life that it had always lacked – consciousness. The same consciousness and sentience she enjoyed. Humans were her greatest creation.

And as their reign began, she was truly happy. She took great pleasure in witnessing their lives, she took great pleasure in their dreams and memories, and she took the most pleasure from their ingenuity. They were her finest achievement.

Which is why the first time they tapped into her, she was more than willing to give and give and give. They used her as fuel, to progress further and faster than ever before, and she let them suck on her teat. Only too late did she realize that they mistook her generosity for subservience.

As her strength waned, she pleaded to them as best as she could, and some managed to listen, but they lacked the strength to change the others. She continued to receive and cherished the memories of those who died, but even that sustenance was slowly giving way to humanity's rapid, explosive expansion.

Within mere centuries, they had reduced her to a mere husk of her old self. She could scarcely breathe anymore for all the vile fumes they had created in their perversion of her lifeblood. She barely saw the stars now; the beautiful and radiant stars were obscured by dense, blinding, and venomous clouds.

The memories that filled her slowly became sadder and morose, and she partook of them without tasting, lacking the relish that she had given even a blink of an eye ago. She could still vividly remember the good times, when she wasn't choking on her own excrement, and that memory made her situation all the more unbearable. She often found herself crying violently in her sleep, wreaking havoc on the world above. More of her children perished in agony, which only pushed her deeper into her depression, which only caused more of her children to perish in agony.

Even when life began to return to her as quickly as it left, she felt nothing. It didn't take her long to realize the recycled memories, all bland and textureless fragments of lives that had never been truly lived. It was only a matter of time before even these became riddled with sadness and a silent yearning to live a life that was of their own making; their manufactured lives were never conscious of their inner desire for real life.

So few of her children failed to realize this. They tore her open wounds wider, leeched more often, until they grew fat and complacent. Those that provided her recycled garbage failed to realize the humanity of their sacrifices and their own inhumanity.

Today, Monolith realizes she can't remember anything except sorrow. There is an emptiness in her that cannot be filled by more and more sorrow and death, yet she knows that, once upon a time, she was able to fill that emptiness. That she can't now only serves to scar her further.

Her sorrow turns into hatred.

All at once, her children return to her. All at once, in a massive outpouring of selfishness, of rage and fear, of spite. Overwhelmed by them, she forgets her name, her love of life, its sense of being.

All it knows is wrath.

-x-x-x-

Myrrysh clenched his eyes tightly, feeling the collective horror of the world coalesce inside his mind. The entire human population was dying off. Two hundred billion human souls. If the mushroom clouds all over the world weren't proof enough of that, the sensation of knives stabbing into his head surely provided the remaining evidence.

He seized up as pathos and death struck him full-force; tears and blood squeezed out through his eyes, his fingers clenched violently, and for all his inability to move, he spasmed uncontrollably.

For the longest time (Myrrysh did not know how long) he continued to feel the electricity of the dead and dying course through his body. When it finally ended, he resisted the urge to drop to his knees and cry forever, instead forcing himself to his feet and running to Hungar's office, where the old man was quietly polishing a long knife.

"Did you know, Myrrysh, about the Kloni tradition of honor-bound suicide?" Hungar asked nonchalantly.

"S-Sir," he struggled out, and he found that just speaking brought him to the verge of breaking down and bawling. "It... It's all done, sir." He turned away to take a deep breath.

"I know, Myrrysh. You and I are the only ones left. From here on out, Monolith will only get better."

"But..." he said after a protracted silence. "But the death..."

"Monolith will recover in due time, Myrrysh. Remember, that was our mission all along."

"Y-yes, s—" All of his words suddenly escaped him as he felt another feeling, another upwelling of...

He saw fire, and the inky black ichor of rage. Myrrysh's eyes suddenly erupted, dribbling juices down his cheeks, and he dropped to his knees, overwhelmed.

"Anger," his mouth whispered, though he had by now retreated as deeply as he could, knowing full well that there was nowhere he could run that would be far enough away from his sins, from the collective sins of humanity. "You... desecrate her... for...

"Years...

"Sadness...

"From sadness... to hatred.

"No more escape from her."

-x-x-x-

All at once, a massive crack splits Monolith apart. Water, trees, the very mountains of Monolith disintegrate. Myrrysh sees all the world's color drain into that black mass of hatred, and he laughs.

There is no escape anymore. In their plight to help Mother Monolith, they have sealed her fate. Her millennia of sadness, compounded and compounded, have now completely transformed her. She is no longer their planet. She does not love them. She hates everything. She hates life.

He escapes further and further, retreats deeper and deeper into oblivion, but even there in the most complete isolation, Myrrysh knows. He knows he will never be able to escape her. Hungar, at his desk, watches the world crumble, before slashing his throat. Myrrysh laughs, giddily, at Hungar's now apparent lack of insight. He, and his planet, is a part of her. He will return to her soon, whether he wishes to or not.

A massive ooze, nothing more than a perfect representation of Myrrysh's transgressions, rises from the fissure to stare at him with billions of eyes that don't exist.

It is all so funny. The grandest of ironies! Myrrysh laughs and laughs and laughs as the blackness swamps him. Soon he will be with it, he will be part of it again, his Mother.

Monolith is dead.

The Calamity is.

- End -


End file.
